Reverie
by psychedelikxx
Summary: He was going to war; she hated being powerless. He thought he would save himself; she decided she would keep him safe. They were total strangers, but it certainly didn't stop them.


**.01.**

"They've declared war."

This was a reality he never thought he would experience. The air was hot and heavy. The voices were loud and some men didn't have the strength to hide their sobs. It was such a pitiful show he wanted to puke. Of course, he would be sent to the front in a few days. All the young men were sent to their death.

"They've declared war."

It wasn't such a surprise when he actually took time to reflect on the latest news. It had taken them time, which he had gladly appreciated, but now he only had days. Days before being forced into some sort of sadistic slavery. If he had seen it coming, why hadn't he moved to Mideel, the neutral territory, while he still could? Every exits of the city would be guarded and not accessible. You'd need a goddamn good reason to get out of Midgar now.

"They've declared war."

He knew some guys could show him underground passages such as sewers and tunnels if he paid them enough. But the idea of being caught by federal forces pushed any escape thoughts out of his mind; he'd rather fight the Wutai troupes until he was forty-something than to get thrown into one of those rumored isolated jail cell. He'd seen men become crazy from the silent torture.

"They've declared war."

He knew all of his friends would be thrown out there too, and instead of comforting him, the prospect repulsed him. He'd never wish for any of his friends to fight a single war. He'd never wish that for anyone. It was too much of a cruel fate; dying by an explosion or by a stab wound or by a gunshot. They were all equally horrible in his head. He feared death more than he'd like to admit, that was for sure, but he was certain every man feared the end more than they let on. It was like those who refused to cry to show weakness. He was like that, too. He had never known someone who enjoyed crying, but he knew weeping only made you human.

"They've declared war."

So this was the end.

Maybe….

Yes, perhaps it would work.

* * *

It was a new feeling, getting lost downtown. He had never owned a car and had always used public transportation such as the bus and the train, but he had never _walked_ downtown. Midgar had never been the prettiest city, what was with its always-grayish sky and even more grayish tall building. There was a part of the city, the one he was walking now, that was slightly nicer with its theaters, shops and concert halls. He knew the bar was supposed to be number 73 on the street but how the hell was he supposed to know where that was?

Grumbling, he shoved his hands deeper into his leather coat's pockets as he observed the map. The roads were covered with a thin layer of snow. The air wasn't cold --barely under 0 Celsius degrees-- but the wind was icy. He wasn't the guy who loved winter simply because he hated summer, but now, as the freaking frosty hurricane made him curse and shiver, he wondered why he loathed the sunny season.

The streets were nearly deserted, and while he wasn't scared easily, the moment he crossed a shady avenue he didn't feel so at ease anymore. It was like stepping into a whole new world. That was the downtown he had heard of. Sex shops and questionable hotels were everywhere. A few scantily clad women were smoking on the other side of the road, and all looked like they tried their best not to run back inside where it was warm. He understood them, as he hoped the 7th Heaven would come in sight rapidly.

When his friend Reno had told him about the bar and its name, he had snorted. But that had been over eight months ago. Back then, the war was no more than a passing idea, an image people thought would soon disappear. Now, it was his only chance.

Trying to avoid the dubious looking substance smearing the sidewalk, he finally entered the building he had been searching for the last hour. Warmth hit him and he released a relieved sigh. He felt his face heat up a little, the feeling similar to a burn. He pushed his beanie farther down to cover his ears and unrolled his scarf. His first thought,0 when he saw all the men with their winter coats, was that his job sucked. He had never lived in luxury and didn't plan to, but he couldn't even buy himself new clothes or a new coat. All he had were his leather jacket and an old zipped-up hoodie that didn't do wonders.

He unzipped both his jacket and hoodie and approached the bar, trying to look confident. The place wasn't dirty and even seemed pretty cozy, but what ruined the atmosphere were the businessmen looking for some fun time and the drunks.

He simply felt out of place, as he wasn't searching for a whore for the night.

He sat at the counter, bumping into a black-haired man who looked drunk.

"Sorry," the guy slurred out, making the effort of lifting his head from his arms.

"I bumped into you."

"No, I said sorry," the drunk continued. Then, he resumed his sleep.

A short girl came and asked him what he wanted. She looked cute, but way too young. He needed somebody over its twenties.

When the girl came back with his drink, he turned around in his seat to watch the place. There were a lot of girls but the majority looked like they came from the brothel he had passed a few minutes ago. Some were desperate fifty years old women with too much makeup. A couple seemed to be teenagers under 21. Only a handle fitted his conditions but that was when he realized the breach in his plan.

He couldn't really go up to them and just _ask_? They'd immediately refuse.

After a while he decided to go. He knew he'd ought looking elsewhere if he ever wanted to survive. Leaving the money he owed for his three beers, he made his way through the crowd of inebriated dancers. A girl latched on his arm, trying to pull him in the throng but he shook her off. He was annoyed with himself and Reno for having come here. It had been a waste of his precious time.

The cold wind hit him like a blast as he stepped outside. He blew hot air on his hands to warm them up. He arranged his scarf and clothes, rubbed his hands a couple of times and let out a heavy sigh.

It was the sound of a muffled sob that made him look left.

She had long black-brown hair and was wearing something akin to a wool dress and black tights. She had a coat and boots on, but she was shivering anyway. He didn't know if it was because of the sobs or of the cold. He moved toward her softly, as if he was scared to startle her. When he was close enough he saw she was clutching her phone quite tightly. He crouched down but still maintained a respectable distance.

"Hey," he said gently, "you alright?"

He registered the way her shoulder tensed the moment the words came out of his mouth so he didn't add anything. She brushed her face with the back of her hands, carefully wiping the tears. She let out a light chuckle, which sounded rather hysterical to his ears.

"Sure."

He didn't budge and neither did she. Finally, she laughed again.

"My cousin's in there getting drunk because he's going to get shipped off tomorrow."

He didn't know what to say except for "I'm getting shipped off too" but he doubted that would help her. Absentmindedly, he played with the box resting in his pocket.

"I've only known him for three years and he'll die soon," she went on, no longer crying. "What's the point of this fucking war?"

"I don't know," he whispered. His legs were starting to ache but he didn't dare to move. "I'll see when I get there."

Her eyes rose to met his for the first time and her face suddenly went blank. He wondered why.

"You're not in there getting drunk off your ass? Congratulations."

He was surprised her tone didn't hold an ounce of sarcasm, but then it wasn't exactly the time.

"I was here for another reason." He finally sat down besides her, keeping a good three feet between them. "It was stupid now that I think about it. I'm just"--he sniggered without humor--"as desperate as those old women in there."

She didn't answer right away. He kind of worried she was gone as he wasn't looking at her.

"Why then?"

He fingered the box again, caressing the velvety top.

"I want to get married."

She didn't seem as shocked as he thought she would be, but she did whirl around to stare at him. He could clearly read the surprise on her face, and he refrained the small smile that threatened to show. He didn't think it would be appropriate.

"But why?" Her voice wavered on the last word and he saw he had her full attention. He raised his gaze to the sky.

"To escape. Married men don't go to war, at least not yet. If it's a short war, then I'll be safe. It should be a short war," he added more to himself. "It'll give me a couple of years." Yeah, one or two, no more.

She nodded, now looking at her feet.

"I have everything ready," he carried on. "The ring, the place, everything. I know a pastor who does quick, impersonal wedding three streets down here. I'm just missing the wife."

"Why don't you ask some of the women at the bar?"

He shrugged, feeling himself loosen up because of the drinks he had taken earlier. "Too old, too young, too many sluts; I still don't wanna marry a tramp. Hey," he sat up straighter, turning toward her. "Marry me."

She jumped back a bit at his demand, her eyes wide. "What?"

"Marry me," he pressed on. "Just for the war. We can get divorced the moment it ends and you don't have to be faithful. We'd just have to share a place, and…" He stopped. Now he only felt like an idiot.

She looked pensive, as if she was considering his proposal. Without a word, she got to her feet and stared down at him with an impassible face. He bit the inside of his cheek hard. She had been the only 'alright' girl he had seen tonight and he had just asked her. He wanted to bash his head against a wall. Of course she wouldn't accept. But the light in her eyes told him differently and he sensed hope building in his chest.

"Yes," she whispered so low he barely caught it.

He was smiling sadly when he took out the ring and slipped it on her ring finger; he was starting to regret it when she said "My name's Tifa" and he answered "I'm Cloud,"; he believed he was ruining her life when they stood at the altar, still clothed in their coats, and they both murmured "I do"; he felt disgusted with himself when he leaned down and laid a chaste kiss on her cold lips; he didn't want to talk with her as he walked her to her small loft because he was afraid of what he would say; he hated himself when they bid each other good night and promised to meet later in the day tomorrow; he loathed the world when he crashed down on his bed and cried.

But he would live.


End file.
